Born to Save the Doctor
by b4dw0lfgirl
Summary: When Clara Oswin Oswald jumped into the Doctor's timestream, hundreds of thousands of versions of her were scattered throughout time and space, with one purpose-to save the Doctor. This is the story of how they saved him, most times without him even realizing it. Collection of Oneshots. Little or no Whoffle. Some OCs. Featuring all the Doctors (First-Twelfth), but mostly New Who.
1. Starship UK, 3295

**This story is based off the adventures of the many versions of Clara Oswald. It takes place in the classic and new series, though most chapters will be in the new one. Most, if not all, of the stories will be based off an episode from Doctor Who. All (or most) of these are told from third person limited POV, from Clara's perspective. Please review! Constructive criticism is welcome! **

_Series Five, Episode Two: The Beast Below_

Clara Oswin chose to forget.

Tears streaming down her face, Clara looked at the three buttons: Forget, Record, and Protest.

The Forget button on the far right seemed to be mocking Clara. The black writing had almost faded from the white plastic. Clara knew she couldn't press that. She couldn't let the star whale stay in misery without anyone knowing about its pain.

The Record button seemed useless. If you were going to forget, what are you going to tell yourself? The information she just learned couldn't be told in the five-minute limit, and if you protest, you wouldn't need it. Clara looked past the white, rectangular button to the one on her far left.

The Protest button looked like it had never been touched by a human hand. It looked brand new, yet had a thick layer of dust on it. Clara heard a voice ringing in her head "If only one percent of the population protests..." If she pressed Protest, she wouldn't be hurting anyone. The star whale might be let free if enough people agree with her, and it wouldn't really hurt the people of England. All it would do is stop the ship from moving. They would be stranded in deep space, but they could still survive for millions of years.

It was the hardest decision Clara had or ever will make in her entire life. A poor, helpless animal, or her friends and family. She dragged her right hand from her side, to the other end of the table, and was the very first person to touch that dusty, round, plastic button, and contribute to Letting the star whale live free. If nothing else, even if this didn't do a thing, Clara knew there had to be at least one person in all of Starship UK who knew of this suffering. She watched the white button turn red as she pushed it down.

* * *

Miles away, on the same ship, a man stood connecting wires to give an electric shock that would kill the last of the star whales. The Doctor couldn't help thinking of the last last time he wanted the wipe out an entire species. Two entire species. He continued fiddling with the wires, knowing he had no other choice.

Amy stood in the corner, the pieces slowly fitting together. She knew what would happen if they let the star whale go.

The Doctor found the two wires that would fit together to kill the star whale. He was about to do it, when there was a blip in the system. Something had happened, someone had protested. One person wasn't even close to the one percent that would free the star whale, but it made the Doctor have to rewire a few things to make the shock strong enough, giving Amelia Pond just enough time to work up her courage to tell the Doctor to stop.

"Doctor stop! Whatever you're doing, stop it now!" Amy screamed before it was too late. She grabbed Liz 10, the queen, and dragged her over to the control panel. "Sorry your majesty, I need a hand."

"Wait! No! No!" the Doctor screamed, but it was too late. Amy pressed Liz 10's hand on the protest button, and saved the star whale and all the people of Starship UK.

**This chapter is not by far the best one, so please keep reading. Most of these won't have that bottom part, where the POV goes all third person omniscient. It would mean a lot if you reviewed, please.**


	2. London, UK, 2005

_Series One, Episode One: Rose_

Os Oswald was on her way back from a pub in London. The night had been fun, and she had a great time, without drinking too much, but she still ended up walking home alone. Stephanie had, of course, gone home with her long-term boyfriend, Brad, to their apartment. And Amanda had gotten picked up. Again. Os loved her friends, but some days it sucked to be second best to all of them.

Os was walking down an empty street in London, when she saw a blonde girl run out of the fire exit of a shop. Os sometimes shopped there, and almost recognized the employee. Os had a bad feeling about the building, and made the split-second decision to run through the door hat the blond girl had run out of, even though it was probably illegal, breaking and entering.

The corridors were empty, but Os still felt the urge to keep running. She found a staircase, and sprinted up a few flights before having to catch her breath. As she stood in the stairwell, panting. There came a very loud boom, and some glass shattered, along with part of the wall exploding.

But that didn't stop Os. She ran up another two flights of stairs, until she was only one from the roof. She hesitantly opened the door, to find it blocked by rubble. She squeezed her small body frame through the part of the door she could open, and climbed over the chunks of ceiling.

She had decided to wear heels, like she always did, to make up for her lack up height, so she broke the heels to make it easier to climb. She was also wearing a jumper and a skirt, but that couldn't be helped.

Os wasn't sure what she was looking for, but when she saw an arm sticking up, she ran towards it, as fast as she could without hurting herself. When she got there, she saw it was just the decapitated arm of a shop window dummy, but picked it up anyways. Once Os picked it up, the fingers on the thing started moving slowly, and she screamed bloody murder.

That's when Os heard a slight groan from behind her on the right. She immediately turned around and climbed through the rubble to what she hoped was a human body, and not another mannequin. When she got close Os saw that it was, indeed, a person, so she tried moving some of the chunks of stone and plaster. Os wasn't the strongest person, but with this adrenaline pumping through her veins, she found that she could move some of the rubble.

She discovered an unconscious person. He was tall, with not much hair, and was wearing a torn, black, leather jacket that looked a bit oversized on him. "Hello? Hello sir are you alright?" she asked the man as she identified a pulse. The pulse was a bit irregular, but it didn't matter to Os as long as he was alive.

He groaned again, and Os tried moving some of the rubble from of his legs, to make it easier for him to get up, once he woke completely. "Sir? Wake up, okay sir?" Os hoped that some conscious part of his mind heard her, and he woke up sooner. "Are you alright, sir? You need to wake up, sir."

Os only needed to repeat that a few more times, before his eyelids fluttered open. "Sir? Are you okay?"

He groaned again, and then jumped up, once his brain registered her there. He probably had a concussion, judging by the late reaction. "Who are you?" he asked as he took in his surroundings.

"I'm Os Oswald. What about you?"

"What are you doing here?" he diverted the question.

"I dunno..."

"Were you here for the explosion?"

"Yeah, but I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"You're not okay. You need to get to a hospital."

"Nah, I'm fine," the man began climbing over the caved in ceiling quickly.

"No, you're not," Os grabbed the man's arm tightly, causing him to stop. "I just freed you from a building that exploded! Explain why you're here and what you're doing here!"

He wrenched his arm free from her grasp and kept walking. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm calling the cops!"

"For what?"

"Blowing up this building!"

"They'll just arrest you for breaking and entering."

Os was silent for a few moments after that, trying to find a good reason for him to tell her the truth, and her foot had gotten stuck down a hole, and she was trying to get it loose. Once she caught up with the man, he was already down several floors, but Os knew how to run. Despite her short legs, Os ran every day, and had gotten a pretty good score on the marathon she ran. So Os quickly caught up with the mysterious man, to interrogate him some more.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"How much do you know about the explosion?"

"Quite a bit."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"What was with that shop window dummy?"

"What do you mean?" he stopped in his tracks and looked her dead in the eyes for the first time.

"It was moving."

"No, that's not possible," he began mumbling to himself, "I blocked the signal… There's no way they can still move…it's probably just traces of the power left behind… Unless, that wasn't the main transmitter!"

Os ignored his babbling for the most part, but made to follow him down the street, the opposite direction of her flat.

"What are you doing?" he asked once he noticed she was still there.

"Following you."

"Why?"

"I want answers."

"Listen, Os, it is so important that you forget about this. Forget about me, and that mannequin. Forget about that building blowing up, forget about all of this."

"Why?"

"It's the only way you can ever be safe. Go to your flat and stay there. Don't go to work tomorrow, say you're sick. Don't tell anyone, about this, they won't believe you anyway. Do me a favor, and just forget about all of this that happened."

"How am I supposed to forget about this?" She raised her voice as walked away. "I don't even know your name!"

"It's better that way," with that he ran away, and Os resigned to going home.

On her way back to her flat, Os threw away her new, broken shoes, walking a couple of blocks in only her tights. She showered before bed, and tried to forget about that man. But he didn't slip her mind as she fell asleep.

Os woke up, with her head pounding like she had a hangover. That was strange, seeing as she didn't think she drank that much last night. She called in sick for work, fighting the nausea that always came with her migraines, and made herself a strong mug of tea. Once her head had cleared, and she had fully woken up, Os began remembering the more traumatic events that had conspired that night. She remembered running into a shop, a shop that had exploded. She remembered saving a man, a man who never told her his name. And she remembered walking home alone. She almost remembered these things, but the more she thought about them, and the harder she tried to remember, the more difficult it got for her to see anything clearly. Soon enough, the blur of distant memories seemed like a dream, and Os assumed it was. Just some crazy dream she had gotten from drinking too much.

Os Oswald never forgot that crazy dream, even in her old age, but that's all it was–a dream.

**So, I'm going to do mostly new series episodes, but I'll throw in a few classic series ones. Like next chapter (if I ever finish the research).**

**Please review! I would love to get feedback, even if it is just spelling or grammar errors that I will fix.**


	3. New York City, New York, America, 2029

Clara went to visit her brother that day. The sky that's normally blue was smothered in a blanket of dark gray clouds, and the air was brisk with the promise of a harsh winter just around the corner.

Today she brought flowers, since it was such a special day. Bright yellow with a few white buds, like the kind they used to pick from the countryside when they were younger. Perfect for his

His name was Michael, and he was Clara's only sibling, and best friend. Sure they fought a lot, but they always made up in the end, closer than they were before the fight. Clara smiled a little at the memory, tears in her eyes. She had been devastated, more than anyone when he died in the car crash a year ago.

She found her younger brother's gravestone, and sat beside it, staring st the cold, bleak stone with his name carved into it. _Michael Brian Oswald. 2011-2028. Aged seventeen. If you blink, you miss everything. So don't blink._

Clara didn't fully understand the quote, but it seemed like something he would say. One minute he was goofing off and playing basketball with his friends, and the next, saying something incredibly deep and philosophical.

Clara rested the flowers in front of grave, the yellow a stark comparison to the pale, frosty green of the grass. She wiped a tear from her face as she remembered the crash. She had been driving. Looking at Michael, laughing at a stupid joke he had made. She didn't see the truck barreling towards them. It had been nighttime, and raining. The road they were on was empty, as per usual. It was on the side of a mountain, leading up to their secluded neighborhood. She had just picked him up from his school's football game, because he didn't pass his driver's test, even after three times. By the time Clara had reverted her eyes to the road again, it was too late. Within seconds, the truck crashed into the car, and everything went black. She woke up buried in the mangled remains of her car the next morning. Police were just beginning to arrive. Apparently the truck had lost control and drove right off the side of the mountain, and rolled down several miles, killing the driver in the process. Clara was the only one alive. The only reason she was still alive, was that mostly the right side of the car had been hit, then rolled over a few times before skidding to a halt on it's side.

A sudden movement from behind her made Clara snap out of her trance. She turned around, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. A few gravestones. Delanie Faucet, age 53. Jennifer Smith, age 79, and Amelia and Rory Williams, ages 82 and 87, along with the usual angel statue above the Williams' shared gravestone.

Clara turned back to Michael's headstone. "I'm sorry, Michael," she whispered, her eyes closed. She almost expected him to say "It's alright, Oswin," but he didn't. And Clara was only talking to a cold, hard piece of rock, not her baby brother. Oswin was the nickname Michael had given Clara when they were kids, for reasons she had forgotten long ago.

Clara turned around suddenly. She had the strangest feeling, like someone was watching her. But no one was there. Everything was the same as last time. Except...the angel statue that was standing over the married couple's grave... Clara could have sworn it had been covering its eyes completely, but now only one hand was covering an eye, and the other arm was half-outstretched.

Clara shook her head and declared that she was imagining things...it must have been the lack of sleep she's been getting lately. But when she took another glance back at the angel statue, her heart skipped a beat.

This time one of the angel's arms was by its side, and it was pointing, right at Clara. She stared at the statue in shock. A statue of an angel, no less, didn't seem like it could do much harm, but Clara had this terrible feeling deep inside that she didn't want it to touch her. If it did, something unspeakably terrible would happen to her. After a few moments though, it seemed less real, and Clara thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her. Until she blinked. In milliseconds, the statue was several feet closer to her. The quote from Michael's tombstone came to her mind. _If you blink, you miss everything. So don't blink._

It was a long shot, and certainly impossible, but it was all she had. Clara stared at the statue without blinking as she slowly backed away. She was practiced at the art of not blinking, from all those staring contests she used to do. But as she was backing up, she tripped over a grave, but caught herself just in time. Unfortunately, though, she had to look down.

When Clara looked back up the angel. it was inches from her. Clara rushed backwards, trying to put as much distance between herself, and that thing.

But when she opened her eyes she was in a different place.

It was dark, lit by only a few old-fashioned lights, and the air was damp and cold.

_Ding! _

"He-hello?" she said a little groggily, not expecting an answer.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor, and this is Martha!" Clara's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw two figures, a man and a woman. The man had brown hair that stuck up oddly, a brown, pinstriped suit that was just too tight, a long, light brown coat, white converse and a pair of glasses. He was also holding some sort of bulky gadget. The woman had dark skin, straight, black hair, and was checking Clara's pulse.

"Clara," she breathed out, still sure she was hallucinating.

"What's wrong with her, Doctor?"

"She's in shock."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Oh, the other thing! Traveling through the time vortex for the first time can make you...sick. Well, without a vessel, most of the time. Well, only happens to some people.

"Are you all right?" the woman, Martha, addressed Clara this time.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just-" Clara didn't know what to ask first, she had so many questions, and it looked like these people had answers. "Where am I?"

"Not entirely sure yet," the man, called the Doctor said, "somewhere in London, we think. We just got here ourselves."

"London? I was in New York!"

"Yes, the Weeping Angels can send you through space, too."

"The- the what?"

"Weeping Angels. They are what sent you back through time. They can only move when they're not being observed, it would've looked like an angel statue."

"Back in time? What re you talking about?"

This time it was Martha who supplied an answer. "These...things, when they touch you, you're sent back in time. We came from 2007-ish."

"What year did you come from?" the Doctor asked Clara.

"I came from 2029," Clara was staring to hyperventilate from all the shock and how unbelievable this was.

"I'm so sorry, you're an awful long way from home. It's...1969."

Clara's eyes widened. "What? But...sixty years?"

"I'm so sorry. I wish there was something we could do. But, we're working on it."

"But...my family! My parents are waiting for me to get home! I was in my second year of college. I go to NYU! I have to get back!"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor's eyes begged for understanding and mercy, "but if we took you back, assuming we _can_ get back, it would rip a hole in the fabric of space and time. It would be another paradox, and the angels have already created enough, or they wouldn't be there in the first place. If I take you back, they'll just grow in power, and they won't stop hunting you. You won't be safe for the rest of your life. This is the safest way. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's-" Clara was about to say it was fine, but she would be lying, "I'll make do."

The Doctor's body physically relaxed. "Thank you."

_Besides,_ Clara thought, _in 42 years Michael was going to be born. I can see my baby brother again._


	4. UK, 2012

Amelia Pond had always been one of Clara's closest friends. They grew up together in that little town. Amelia told Clara all about that Raggedy Doctor and his little blue time machine that had a swimming pool and a library.

Amelia wasn't Clara's best friend, but Clara was the only one who would believe her tale about the Doctor and his fish fingers and custard adventure with her. Everyone else said Amelia was being silly or making it up, but Clara believed.

Clara was always there for Amelia, from her night alone in the garden to her wedding night. Clara was the only one who found Amy's parents a little bit strange. Clara was the one who had introduced Amy to Melody. Clara could always rely on her if she needed to be cheered up. Clara and Amy would meet up for tea a few time a years and chat about the good old days of what their lives used to be, and occasionally about the mysterious Raggedy Doctor.

So of course Clara was concerned when Amy went missing. It was strange, how Amy and Rory first disappeared for a while, but Amy did ring Clara up saying they were traveling. Then they returned for a summer, and left with Mels, who was never seen again. The Williams would sometimes disappear for a few days, and it had gotten to the point where no one was concerned when they did. Sometimes a friend of theirs with a bow tie and tweed would show up, but Amy always changed the subject when Clara mentioned him.

It happened one day out of the blue. Clara hadn't talked to Amy in about a years, so she rung her up. Now, Amy always answered her phone, no matter if it was a long conversation that went on for hours or if there was a loud crash and Amy telling Clara she was busy at the moment, and that she would call her back later, and she always did.

Clara tried calling a couple more times, with no success. She then swung 'round by their house to see if anything was wrong. The house was empty and quiet. Their car was stilled parked on the road outside, but the door handle was covered in a layer of dust, and locked.

So Clara knocked on some of the neighbors' doors, and was told they hadn't been seen in weeks. So Clara used a little skill she learned from her dad. She picked the lock.

On the inside, nothing. All the lights were off, which was a bit ominous, since it was getting dark. But in the kitchen, there were two mugs of cold, half-drunk tea sitting on the counter.

Suddenly Clara knew they wouldn't be coming back. She didn't know how or why, but she knew. She knew those mugs of tea would sit on the counter for ages. Tea never finished. She knew that the next time someone comes in the house, they would find it empty. That Amelia and Rory Williams would show up on a missing list. That the house would eventually be foreclosed. Layers of thick dust would settle before an entirely new couple would move in, and the memory of them would be lost forever.

But Clara knew that someone would come by the house eventually, like she did. Someone would be looking for their best friends, or beloved daughter or son.

Clara wrote a note. A simple note to whomever noticed them missing first. To whoever would swing by the house to check up on everything. She simply wrote: "_I'm sorry,"_ on a piece of stationary, and left it unsigned on the counter.

Because she knew deep in her heart they would never return, but someone else might need that little apology.

Just then the front door creaked open. In walked a young man with brown floppy hair, an awkward, lanky walk, a red bow tie, tweed, and a deep sadness in his eyes that were too old for his face. He strode into the kitchen, knowing where he was going, and Clara hid swiftly in the pantry.

The man looked tired and lonely and depressed. He first noticed the note Clara had written, since it was a bit out-of-place. He picked it up, and analyzed it. After a moment a few tears overflowed from his eyes as he whispered "So am I."


End file.
